


Champion of Light

by cl0wnf11sh



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover, Daedra Worship, I’LL UPDATE THIS ONE I PROMISE, M/M, Multi, attempts at worldbuilding, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl0wnf11sh/pseuds/cl0wnf11sh
Summary: Meridia has stopped answering her worshippers, and as far as they know, the Amporas may well be the only Meridians in the province. What can they do but send their son to aid Her?And so, Eridan Ampora departs from his home with the family’s savings in his pocket, Solitude-bound, through a hellish country full of warring humans and tales of great, man-eating lizards in the sky, and he hasn’t got the faintest idea what he’s doing.Plus.It’ssnowing.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s silly to think that a change in weather can come from simply crossing a border, but Eridan swears that the temperature drops by degrees when the caravan goes through the mountain pass to Eastmarch. He wraps his old, ratty fur cloak tighter around his shaking shoulders and runs his fingers over the worn-smooth quartz of his Meridian pendant, praying for- oh, he doesn’t know anymore, at this point. Warmth. 

He can’t stop thinking of how he was supposed to go to Skyrim and pay his respects to his Lady in the summertime and in the company of his sister instead of in the dead of Sun’s Dawn like he is now. He’s just frustrated for a moment, but it just changes to worry when he remembers why he had to go before he was meant to. 

Only a week or two earlier was the thirteenth of Morning Star, Meridia’s holy day. He’d been looking forward it, especially since Cronus ran off to go join the Sanguinites and have orgies or whatever they do in their spare time. There’s a big dinner, better food then the rest of the year, gifts exchanged when they can afford it, but when they’d preformed Her rites.. She’d been silent. She can’t answer every prayer, of course, She has many responsibilities, but She always answers on Her summoning day. Always. 

They don’t know any other Meridian families in Morrowind; people are fairly quiet about worshipping Daedra besides the main, widely-accepted ones, even here, so they don’t know if it’d been a universal occurrence, but... she hadn’t even shown any displeasure, she’d simply ceased to answer them, so they’d come to a conclusion. Something must be horribly, horribly wrong. 

Eridan was already supposed to make the pilgrimage to her temple as part of his eighteenth year, and he’s been showing much more promise in Destruction then his sister, so here he is. The family’s savings in his pocket, Solitude-bound, through a hellish country full of warring humans and tales of great, man-eating lizards in the sky, and he hasn’t got the faintest idea what he’s doing. Plus. it’s _snowing._

It’s another hour or two, he thinks, and then the rickety old covered wagon he’s curled in bumps to a stop. The driver yells something- Eridan hears “Windhelm” and grabs his bag to shuffle out. He’d pay for passage to a city closer to the Temple, but he’s really not sure his purse can handle the cost for anything further into the country. A second later, the thing starts to move again, and the young Dunmer is left looking up at the great, dreary stone bridge to the city. 

He’s heard the occasional story about how Dunmeri are treated in this, the capital of the Stormcloaks- he scoffs at the mere thought of those Nord dogs- but as he slips through the heavy main gate, he’s suddenly aware of the fact that those stories may have been more truth then embellishment. He slows when he sees two Nordic men berating a Dunmer woman outside the inn in the center of town before looking away and speeding towards the door when one looks in his direction, slurring something about giving him a taste of his fists as well. 

The woman behind the inn counter- a Nord as well- smiles at him all thin-lipped when she sees his face, but rents him a room anyway. He buys a bowl of soup and a hunk of fresh bread- she’s probably overcharging him- and takes it to the sitting room up the stairs, incredibly aware of every burly Nord in the hall looking at him like he’s something the dog coughed up. 

That’s it. It’s decided. He needs to hire some kind of mercenary. 

Well, there’s no guarantee that a merc won’t stab him in the back as soon as they get out of a city’s sight, but it’s a risk he has to take. Letting his eyes furtively drift about the room as he wolfs down the surprisingly palatable stew, his gaze settles on the only other Mer in the building besides the waifish elf in the corner singing some twaddle about a mythic hero returning- an Orc a few tables away nursing a bottle of wine. He looks young.. maybe young, it’s hard to tell in all honesty, and he has twin shortswords with keen edges on his belt, probably the only reason nobody’s bothered him yet. 

He stews in his anxiety, stomach turning fretfully for a few more minutes before hee finally makes up his mind, picking up his things and setting down at the Orsimer’s table. He glances up, looks him up and down with a tipsy kind of wariness. Close as he is now, he can see a careful pattern of bright red paint across his cheekbones and forehead, faded and smeared like it’s been days since he’s reapplied. He grunts, a hint of annoyance in the tone, and Eridan clears his throat as he pulls out a full leather pouch of coins and carefully places it on the table. That commands his attention fairly fast. “Forgive me for intruding, but is your sword arm for sale? I’m journeying across Skyrim on important business and I require protection.” Definitely didn’t practice that in his head ten times, no sera. 

He stares down at the bag of coins, grunts, and takes a long drink of wine before picking up the bag and weighing it in his hand, peeking in to confirm it’s real money. “How far you going?” His voice isn’t slurred despite the fact that he’s obviously at least a little intoxicated, but it’s rasping, like he’s been sick to the throat recently. “Solitude. Or near there.” The Orc whistles and slowly puts the bag down, looking back up at him and pausing long. “..You fight?” He preens a little at that, nodding slightly. “I am advanced in the school of Destruction magic, yes.” There’s a small snort and a roll of his eyes, Eridan only barely managing to avoid getting offended, and then he sighs and leans forward over the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially- ah, there’s the slur. “This coin up front and a portion of whatever you earn while I’m protecting your ass, and I’m in.” 

Well, that was easy. Eridan.. isn’t sure if this is a good deal or not, much less if he can trust this Orc, especially when he’s sober, but they can work out a good percentage on the journey, right? He takes a deep breath and forces a smile, offering his hand. “I believe we have a deal. I’ve rented a room for myself here, we can depart in the morning. I’m Eridan Ampora, by the way, I don’t believe I caught your name..?” 

He takes a smaller sip of wine and stares at his hand with an expression of distaste before reaching over and shaking it, his hand calloused and rough against his smaller, warmer one. “Karkat gro-Vantash.” And with that, he gets to his feet, stomping off towards the stairs. 

Well, at least he’s something. He should be heading to bed too, now that he thinks of it. It’s late already, and he wants to be alert when the morning comes- if they’re lucky, they can reach another town before next nightfall. He quickly finishes his dinner and retires to his room before the hour’s up, not knowing how tired he is until he falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

Karkat groans awake with a splitting headache, staring up at the ceiling of his room at the inn for a moment before realizing that someone’s talking. It takes another long moment for him to realize who they are, what they’re saying, and that just drags another groan from him. 

It’s that prettyboy Dunmer from last night. Uri-something. He must be fresh off the wagon from Morrowind, his accent’s much thicker then any of the poor bastards living in the Grey Quarter and all the snooty affect he’d been putting on was obviously a cover for him shaking in his boots. What did he want again? 

He listens for another moment without really paying attention, wincing when he closes his eyes to make them a touch less dry and his voice gets a touch more shrill out of offense before he manages to get his shit together for long enough to catch something about Solitude. 

Oh, fuck him, right. He promised to bring him to Hjaalmarch for around fifty gold and more gold in the future that may or may not exist.

Past drunk Karkat is an idiot. 

The elf finally stops talking and steps back, arms crossed as he watches him haul himself out of bed. “You agreed to leave in the morning, and it’s near past midday! I’ve half a mind to take my gold back if you’re going to sit around being a lazy drunkard instead of honoring our deal.” Karkat glares at him- a glare without much power, though- and continues going about his business getting ready for the day. Eridan (that’s his name, he remembers now) makes a few more shrill protests about being ignored before squeaking and rushing away when he realizes he’s starting to change into clean clothes. 

Karkat, still half-asleep, chuckles to himself as he dresses. One slight upside in a hellish start to a day. Another minute or so to paint his war-paint on fresh and then he goes about putting on his armor, fighting through the headache pounding at the back of his skull as he double-checks that his shortswords are both with him. 

Damn him, he’s going to do this, isn’t he? The Dunmer kid is irritating as all hell, the pay is dismal, and the journey will probably kill them both, but it’s a hell of a lot more interesting then drinking his life away in this freezing pisshole. 

He shuffles out of his room, wincing at the light, and Eridan jumps a little from his place by the door like he wasn’t really expecting to see him out so fast, or at all, and certainly not so effectively pretending that he doesn’t have a hangover. He stares for a second- maybe he’s intimidated by the paint, he’s not bragging when he says it’s impressive when applied correctly. 

“Are we moving or not? Come on.” He mumbles a nervous agreement and nods, quickly starting out towards to the door, leaving Karkat to tread along behind. 

He’s tempted to accuse his companion of lying, since it can’t possibly be midday already, the sun is still so faint and pale, but it’s quickly evident why. Snow covers everything with only the slightest paths visible where people and horses walk, building up and softening the craggy, harsh landscape of Eastmarch, and it’s still pouring down in drifts. 

At least they’re both dressed right for the weather. The snow is coming down in drifts and he already feels a few flakes sticking to his brow ridges before he pulls his hood up, watching the slight Dunmer pull a heavy cowl across his face. 

They walk in silence. It’s awkward, of course it is, but it’s a sort of comfortable awkwardness. The only noise is their footsteps on the snow at their feet, the heavy banks muffling the sounds of wildlife and even the running of the White River but ten or twenty feet to their side. 

They walk for an hour like that, silent and plodding. Eridan talks to himself occasionally, starting about half an hour in- it’s too quiet to be an attempt to speak to him, quiet and repetitive murmuring that occasionally turns singsongy. Karkat doesn’t pry. Plenty of people sing walking songs on long journeys, even if that’s usually more of a shared experience. Maybe he’s just praying, he seems like the type. 

But then he falls silent again and there’s nothing to distract from the numb pain in their fingertips and the way their legs already grow tired after completing barely a fraction of their pilgrimage. Too bad they’re too piss-poor to afford horses. 

Damn this, it’s too quiet. He’ll have to get to know this prissy wizard eventually, so he glances over at him, clearing his throat and speaking in a low, gravely tone. “So. Solitude. Long way from home, huh? What’s important enough to make a pilgrimage like that?”

Eridan glances at him and his shoulders hunch guiltily- never a good sign when asked an innocent question like that. He seems to flounder for a long moment before just smiling thinly. “Matters of family.” 

Oh, horseshit. He’s still his employer, though, so Karkat just inclines his head and gives a plainly suspicious “Mhm.” 

Well, if he’s going to be like that, they’ll just have to walk in silence until they make camp.

He regrets that pledge for the rest of the walk- it’s too damn _quiet_ and it drives him mad- but he’s far too stubborn to go back on that now.


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve been walking for hours blurring into hours when it starts to get dark. Eridan still can’t believe people live in this freeze, but he sees footsteps and then imprints of hooves under his feet as he drags along. He’s been staring off that painful, burning numbness by summoning licks of flame around the edges of his gloves, the beginnings of a firebolt that he never allows to grow enough to hurt anything, but despite how little magicka it uses, it’s still something. It’s starting to tire him on top of the fatigue from wading through snow. 

Karkat beside him is still standing tall and walking evenly. He’s starting to pull slightly ahead, actually, and the fact that he occasionally stops for a moment to let him catch up is probably more humiliating then if he’d just left him to lose his way in the snow. Eridan scowls to himself and pulls his hood down further, continuing to plod forward, staring down at his own boots as they wearily move. 

He nearly doesn’t notice when Karkat stops, but he hears a muffled “Hey, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” And quickly stumbles to a stop, turning to see him starting to ford into the snow beside the trail. “Forward, obviously. We need to get to the next town and rest, right?”

The Orc looks at him like he’s touched for a moment before continuing to walk into the trailside forest. “Aren’t any inns close enough, we’re making camp. Either that or freezing your ass off ‘til you die, so hurry up.” Eridan looks back towards the trail before scoffing and hurrying after him before he’s out of sight when he shows no sign of stopping. “Making camp? That’s ridiculous, it’s much too cold to sleep outside.”

Karkat doesn’t turn, he just keeps plodding deeper into the forest. “Your preparation for going on foot across the whole of Skyrim was pretty shit, then. Don’t know how long it is from one town to the next, don’t know how to make a shelter in the snow. You’re lucky you hired me or your pretty little self would be frozen right about now.” Eridan makes a series of offended little huffing noises but can’t seem to come up with anything better than potentially yelling ‘Am not’ at the top of his lungs, so instead he just suspiciously watches.

He’s been peering under the branches of pine trees where they’re weighed down to the ground under the burden of snow, and he finally gives a little noise of triumph as he finds one that’s apparently satisfactory, pushing aside some branches before crouching down and shuffling under them. Around the trunk, the snow level is much lower, and he glares up at Eridan expectantly. “Get in here. I could dig this out by hand, but magic will make it a hell of a lot easier.”

He wants to object to being ordered around, maybe give a belated rebuke for his earlier jeering, but he finds himself just scowling and carefully sliding into the divot under the tree as well. “Now melt the snow. Carefully, don’t want it collapsing.” This can’t possibly work, even if it’s big enough to sit in comfortably it’ll be cold as all hell, but the Orc isn’t budging so he simply lets out a long-suffering sigh and raises his hands to summon a light jet of flame. 

It’s slow work (Karkat frequently, loudly warns him not to melt the snow too much before scrambling out again to “go get some shit” and he’s already tired from the handwarming trick on the trail) but eventually he’s hollowed out a wide, cylindrical hollow around the trunk about a foot less deep then he is tall. His companion returns within a few minutes, carrying an armful of pine boughs that he proceeds to layer the floor with. 

Eridan has no choice but to stand there and let him do so, but before he has a chance to complain about how dumb this whole charade is again he realizes that it’s not as cold as it was when they found it. The snow and pine must be acting as some sort of insulator, keeping their body heat trapped in the small space. He allows himself to be slightly impressed as he takes his backpack off and unstraps a small bedroll from the front, feeling Karkat’s incredulous eyes study him and silently ignoring him as he makes conversation. “So, where’d you learn to build a shelter like this? I don’t believe I’ve seen something like it before.”

He scoffs and leans back against the tree trunk, taking off his own pack and rifling through it. “Every parent in Skyrim teaches their child how to survive in the wilderness before they’re old enough to leave the house. Every parent that’s not an idiot or rich to have their kids never out in the weather, that is.”

They both fall silent for another moment, but soon enough, Karkat’s the one to break it. “You really won’t tell me why we’re going to Hjaalmarch?” Eridan sighs frustratedly as he bites down on a strip of tough deer jerky from his ration back, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I told you already, you dullard. I’m going to visit a family friend.” He pauses, looking at his traveling companion out of the corner of his eye, before thinking back to what his father had told him before he’d left on his journey.

It’s always been dangerous to serve his Lady. Maybe it’s a little easier to hide then, say, if one was a Namirite, but people are scared of what they don’t understand, and scared people turn to violent people quick. He’d been told that he should be wary at all times, even around fellow Daedra worshippers, but he could find kinship in some of them.

“You worship Malacath, don’t you?” Karkat looks at Eridan like he’s touched in the head again, blankly staring, before leaning back against the tree and nodding slowly. “I do. Have my whole life. Gonna tell me why the fuck that’s relevant to my questions?” Eridan’s shoulders hunch and he takes a nervous breath before attempting to calm himself, speaking slowly as he repeats the words his father made him promise to memorize, the storied history of their god’s alias running through his head. If he was less devout, he would have fallen asleep halfway through the lesson, but now, in this moment of doubt and near-fear, he wishes he’d paid more attention.

“I’m visiting a family friend. Her name is Maria. I’m a _friend_ of _Maria._ ” 

Nothing. 

The Orc just keeps staring, entirely uncomprehending and maybe a little resigned, like the notion that his employer might be mad is starting to set in.

Fine. He can be like that. Gray cheeks flushing darker, he murmurs his frustration to himself as he clambers inside his bedroll, shoulders hunching as he tucks himself into the warm furs as much as he can. He feels Karkat’s eyes on his back for another long second, but soon enough, he’s sighing to himself and settling down as well.

So much for transparency, but it’s not like he really has to know anything, right? He’s a bodyguard. A mercenary. Hired help. It doesn’t matter. 

Eridan clutches the quartz pendant around his neck tightly as he starts to drift off to sleep, exhaustion taking him before he can realize it’s coming.

**Author's Note:**

> remember all those other fics i still haven’t updated? don’t worry they were just a dream


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